


Moments In Time

by melonmeelon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Freckles, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Second Person, Scars, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25382491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonmeelon/pseuds/melonmeelon
Summary: "That day was a special one, for lots of reasons. The most important part of that day for you wasn't that it was the hardest storm of the summer, or that your dad gave you the day off, but that you got to spend the whole day withhim. That was the most important thing about that day. It was a day that started with an excited teenager with a picnic basket getting the guts to knock on your door, a simple act that made your day the best you could've asked for."
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character





	Moments In Time

It's going to storm, the clouds are a dark persistent gray and the wind is blowing hard enough to cause his blond hair to flutter like a frantic golden moth, you remember that clearly. It was stormy out - the air sticky and warm like most of the hot summer days you knew - but the rain "hadn't fallen yet," as he reminded you over and over when you brought it up. He'd look back every once and a while and smile the same smile that always sent more electricity than lightning shooting from the tips of your fingers to the balls of your feet, a smile you couldn't help but always return. How could you not? How could someone not smile back at the 14-year-old with his golden-blond hair and sparkling eyes bluer than a clear winter sky? It's impossible. At least to you, it is.

That day was a special one, for lots of reasons. The most important part of that day for you wasn't that it was the hardest storm of the summer, or that your dad gave you the day off, but that you got to spend the whole day with him. _That _was the most important thing about that day. It was a day that started with an excited teenager with a picnic basket getting the guts to knock on your door, a simple act that made your day the best you could've asked for.__

__The picnic was abrupt, and as he told you about it while you stood there in your pajamas, you couldn't help but stare at how the few freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose and cheeks moved with every word, not hearing the words as they went through one ear and out the other. All that you heard was the smile in his voice and the way he laughed at the end - twinkling and bubbling out of his chest because apparently, your face looked like a fish out of water - and you nodded in agreement to what you found ten minutes later was a picnic. Once you ran out the door and across the street, it only took two knocks for your friend to answer, grabbing the picnic basket he left on the ground with one hand and taking your own bandaged one in the other, dragging you to the backyard. As the two of you walked he began telling a story of something that happened at the market the day before, talking animatedly - swinging your clasped hands and speaking with eyes brighter than the morning sun that filtered through the clouded sky. You hummed and nodded at the right times, yawning in others, each response earning a look your way and a toothy lopsided grin. You're tired and the weather was rather unpleasant, but as he pulled you through the trees, trying hard to make sure none of the pokey twigs you didn't see on your blindside hit you, there's nothing you'd rather be doing, no matter how many times you had to stop and stretch._ _

__After a few more minutes of walking, now thoroughly in the forest behind his home, he lets go of your hand to set out the quilt he brought to sit on. Most times the two of you would just sit on the branches or roots of the thickest tree in the area and you'd look around at the world he'd bring you to, but today you looked at your hand. Even though you know you should do what you always do, look around or go help with the food he was checking - the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration - but you just stare at the other and think about how cold your bandage-wrapped hand with the lack of his warmth. Sometimes you find that you don't appreciate things until they're gone, huh?_ _

__"Ovien? You alright?" He asks, shaking you free of your thoughts, making you realize how long you probably just stood there, and all you can do is scratch the back of your neck awkwardly before going and sitting down on the blanket with a shy smile. You mutter an apology but he brushes it away with a peach-colored hand and offers you an apple he pulled from the basket between the two of you, red and bright against your wrapped white hand._ _

__The two of you continued to talk, jumping from topic to topic like you always do with the blond, this time taking a moment to listen to how the other's voice rose and fell the more he spoke. Taking a moment to follow his hands, noticing the single freckle on the inside of his middle finger, pinpointed it whenever possible. Of course, you follow the words of his honeyed voice, listening to how they seem to flow together, certain words sticking in your mind as you continue eating the apple he gave you at the beginning of his story._ _

__Then he stops, looking right into your eyes. His gaze is unnerving, it feels like he's looking right into your soul, finding all the times you broke into pieces, finding all the moments when he was your _everything _, blue eyes that were looking at you with such an intense fondness and _softness _that it startles you to your core. It was so blatant and there, so open and genuine that it scares you, you could feel your heart rate speed and skip, ears growing warm at the thought that the shining softness could be for you. It's a look you've only seen once or twice, a look you've never seen been given to anyone but you._____ _

______"Could I ask you a question?" He breathes into the air, words sticking to your skin in the same way the humid air around you did. It was nerve-wracking, so you look away, focusing on teasing the cloth on your thumb instead of meeting his gaze._ _ _ _ _ _

______But you can still see his eyes, and they are kind._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Sure, what do you need?" You reply in the same lightness, as not to break the atmosphere you two have seemed to build sitting beside each other on a blanket. He looks conflicted after you answer, fingers twitching as if beginning to do something before immediately taking it back - the 14-year-old looks as though his question was some daunting, friendship-changing topic, and for all you know, it just might be. But then you watch, as he takes a breath, deep and full with his eyes closed and shoulders rising. Preparing for a simple question._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Can I touch your scar?" He finally asks, taking his gaze from his fidgetting freckled hands and meeting yours. You feel your shoulders tense at the question, tense as the electricity of his quick zapping words as he back-pedals the question quickly and follows it with many apologies, apologies that go in one ear and out the other. He knows you so well, seeing the smallest of ticks and knowing how to fix what he did, but you can't see why he looks so sorry, he didn't do anything wrong. And still, his winter sky eyes seemed to grow cloudy, just like the sky above their old oak tree._ _ _ _ _ _

______"It's ok, you can you want to." You answer with a mask of nonchalant, shown with a shrug and small upturn of your lips, your insides doing circus routines as he gives you a blinding smile, all former rapid-fire apologies out the window. He knows you well enough to see through your mask, just as he did all those years ago, but he didn't say anything, and as you watch a shaky hand reach up and cradle your jaw, you can tell there's a circus performing inside him too. He's closer now, close enough that you hear the unspoken anxieties going on in his mind, so you breathe a soft sigh, melting into the hand that held your cheek, feeling as his thumb goes back and forth on your scarred skin. Your eyes are closed, but you can feel the blond's tender, curious yet guarded gaze on your face, so you smile the smallest bit - as though you weren't already - and you can hear a minuscule sigh escape him._ _ _ _ _ _

______His hand felt different compared to when it held yours earlier. It wasn't as sure, not a reassuring pressure, but more of a question. A soundless "is this ok?" which you respond to with a steady warm breath from your nose onto his wrist, a question you respond to by covering his hand with your own wrapped one and opening your eyes to look at him through a curtain of eyelashes._ _ _ _ _ _

______His eyes became a kaleidoscope, from one angle looking glassy and fragile, from another fond and as soft as the breaths on his skin, from another awestruck and anxious, an array of different emotions that could change at the smallest tap. You've never seen anything like them, your best and only friend of 5 years had eyes you could swim in for hours. Blue eyes that could be summer skies surrounded by bright clouds and golden sunlight, rings of color that could be the pale blue of an icicle formed by the dripping of a pipe, maybe even the blue of an exotic flower caught in the dappled light of a forest. Or they could be the blues that are an ocean of feelings - eyes that were so incredibly _his _that is made your heart swell as they stare at you now. As a red blossomed across his cheeks like a flowerbed beneath his freckles, you couldn't help but notice how it contrasted so well with the crystalline color of his irises. _Beautiful _. Your best friend was beautiful. You let your eyes roam his face for what you promise is just a moment more, and you notice freckles you hadn't noticed before, like the one on the top of his ear, a spot that wouldn't be visible if he weren't so close. How many other freckles stayed hidden from afar under his golden hair and starry smiles? One of these days you need to count them all, not a moment later noticing the raised blond eyebrow looking your way._____ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Count what?" He asks with a mischievous grin, all previous embarrassment and anxieties dissipated. Now it's your turn to stumble to piece words together because you probably shouldn't just say what you were thinking, but then again you did a few seconds ago without realizing and he hadn't walked away yet, still lazily brushing a thumb on the space beneath your blind eye._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Freckles." You manage to say after a pause, voice cracking in the way it seems to nowadays, so you repeat yourself, tone more stable but volume shy and quiet, looking away to the trees around you two. His only reaction is a seemingly awestruck 'oh' before it went uncharacteristically silent. Silence was something you hated most of the time, an absence of words that should be said but don't get the chance, getting interrupted by the echoing clatter of silverware on chipped dishes, but this isn't silence, you realize, this was just quiet. It let the wind speak and blow through tree leaves and untamed curls, it was a quiet that let you soak in the warmth of the other's ever-present touch. A lack of words that let you two watch each other's steady and serene breaths, a quiet you could interrupt, but one you find you don't want to. Sitting on a picnic blanket with your best friend was by far enough._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________After a minute more he pulls his hand away, a shy smile gracing his features as he offered a quick 'thanks' pulling you back to the present. A present where he had asked maybe five minutes earlier to touch the burned skin on your face, a present where the muggy not-quite-raining-yet air fills the space on your cheek where his hand was previously._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Back to a present where little moments like these were something to never take advantage of._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________So you nod to his thanks and grab a piece of sliced bread safe in the wicker basket he owned, scooting ever so slightly closer to the blond and listening as he begins to describe how the sunrise looked this morning when he woke up. You begin talking too, mostly about the moon the night before while he slept, how it was full and a brilliant gold only a few shades lighter than his hair, not even pausing in your story as you slide your hand into his, feeling a reassuring squeeze as you continue to speak._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Little moments like these with Alec, however small, would always be your favorite._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Am I putting off part five of Victoria's story with drabbles? Yes. Yes I am. AND SPEAKING OF, I, UH, AM GONNA TAKE A SMALL SMALL BREAK FOR VICKY'S STORY SORRY BUT I WANT TO MAKE A FEW MORE SMALL DRABBLES,,,, SO SEE Y'ALL SOON I GUESS
> 
> Insta: bellartwork23  
> Feel free to comment! I'd love to hear from you guys!


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